early stages

Tuning the radio between the tears to find you,
to hear you crying back for me, asking me to
(in the blackness of night) turn around, don't be
stupid- just turn around. You are not hip-hop
like he was, you are not loud noises, or even
crooning old country like I hear in my own
quiet. You are not the contemporary Jesus
tunes I will listen to on repeat without noticing.

And you most certainly are not a quiet drive
half past two or a quarter to the world ending.
You are a soft song, the peace between acoustic
waves. You are the quiet at the beginning of a slow
love song. You are the way slow dancing feels,
the way I can't remember being born, the way
love happens slowly and heartbreak turns into
a distant hum, hours away.

When I finally hear the right song, I am with you
again in a parking garage, fogging windows with
laughter. I am singing the words to the song of
you.